A Summer in Imladris
by Tari Adlanniel
Summary: Legolas Greenleaf has often visited Imladris as a reprieve from his warrior duties in Greenwood the Great. A restless elf, it is not surprising when he requests to journey beyond the borders of the elven haven with the twin sons of Elrond. In fact, it happens often. But this time, the Watchful Peace has drawn to a close, and the creatures of the Dark are rising once more...
1. Chapter 1

A Summer in Imladris

"You know _Ada_ will not let us go!"

"Yes, but it's Legolas. Legolas can beg the gold coin out of a starving man's pocket!"

"Excuse me? I would thank you not to lump me together with devils who do not have any morals!"

"You see, Elrohir? Even Legolas says he cannot persuade _Ada!_"

"What! _That's_ not what I said!"

"Ha! Who's wiser now, Dan? Legolas denies that he cannot persuade _Ada! _And besides, Legolas, I was just, er, complimenting you on your remarkable persuasive skills! No harm done! Except to the starving man, that is."

"Ro, shut up…"

"Yes, 'Ro', before _you_ end up as the one with harm done to yourself," warned Legolas in an undertone, unsheathing his knives. The silvery blades glinted as he twirled them in his hands, throwing off flashes of light.

Elrohir backed up rapidly, "It is not as if _you_ were a devil without any morals," he said, hastily, dark eyes tracking the movement of the blades.

Elladan sighed, "_Tithen las_, I do not deny that my brother does not deserve a good thrashing from time to time, but I think that _Ada_ will appreciate having Elrohir physically in one piece, as Ro is clearly not mentally sound."

Elrohir glared at him, "Oh, yes, thank you for all your brotherly support."

"Who said that you are my only brother? _Tithen las _is as much a brother to me as you are. Besides, it is my duty to you, and I must carry it out with honor."

"You hurt me, Dan!"

The sun was rising above the valley in which lay Rivendell, the Last Homely House. Wisps of mist dissipated as the weak rays of the sun stretched themselves into the valley, warming the land. Bright drops of dew clung stubbornly onto leaves and blades of grass, and were currently being shaken off from their positions by three young ones, who were bickering and arguing even as they drifted across the field.

Their footsteps left no prints, their speech no more than a soft but agitated debate in a lilting and melodious tongue. Even as they walked, they seemed to carry themselves with a certain sort of unconscious feline grace, and hidden power lay hidden within slender frames, like that of a panther poised to strike. Thus are the Eldar.

Three heads bobbed up and down, two dark, one gold. It seemed for a minute that the golden head was winning, and indeed, sunlight lit upon it as if purposely crowning it with a floating halo of victory.

"I _told_ you! _Ada_ will not let us go!"

"He might, if he knew where you three were planning to go."

The furiously arguing heads of the three young elves snapped up as one, and three looks of guilt spread instantaneously across the faces of the conspirators. Elrond sighed, forcing a stern look onto his face even as the corners of his lips twitched in a smile.

"Where do you plan on going?" He asked, fixing each young elf with a gaze that would have borne a hole in metal.

The three exchanged glances. There was a secret code in the way they communicated with each other, when they did not want others to understand. Every time Elrond discovered their code, they would change it. This one was new, and he could not decipher the shrugs and shifting of shoulders.

He watched as Elladan glanced at Elrohir, who raised his shoulders a bit and stared into the trees. Elrohir then nudged Legolas, who blinked twice, very fast. Elrohir then turned his gaze towards the sky and Elladan delicately examined his cloak, both avoiding his eyes.

Frustration colored Legolas' face for just a second, and then it was gone, and it was a carefully composed face that Legolas presented to him after realizing that no help would come from his allies, who were both finding sudden interest in the scenery that they had viewed for millennia.

"_Hir nin,_" Legolas dipped his head and took a step forwards. "We would like to request permission to leave Imladris for a short while. Please. We would certainly be gone no more than a week."

Outwardly, Elrond maintained his stern face, but inwardly, he heaved a sigh of relief. He had rather been waiting with held breath for the day that Legolas would exhaust all of Imladris and sneak off during the night. As a result, he had been watching the three young elves like a hawk for the better part of two weeks. Indeed, he thought it remarkable that Legolas had held out for two months, and had actually asked permission to leave. Inconceivable, really. It had happened, well, about once over the six or seven centuries that Elrond had known the prince.

And so he was rather relieved to not have to write to Thranduil about another escapade, but it would not do to agree so soon. The elfling seemed to have made it his goal to wander off and attract danger either on the journey to, during, or back from Imladris.

"Your father has made it clear that you are to come to Imladris as a respite from your warrior duties," Elrond said, "I do believe that every time, without fail, you happen to get hurt on one of your 'innocent journeys'. What do you suppose I should write to him this time? Promises not to get hurt are certainly no good, and I do not fancy facing Thranduil's rage when he finds out that you have come back from yet another stay in Rivendell with bandages covering half your arms."

"Father need never find out," Legolas said, his grey eyes wide with innocence. "All we want to do is to explore a bit in the forests, we will not be more than a few miles away from Imladris, and it is perfectly safe. _Perfectly_. Besides, we do not go looking for trouble. What is there to fear?"

Beside him, Elrohir let out a snicker that he tried to turn into a cough, and choked in his mirth, spluttering and gasping. Elladan thumped him on the back, perhaps harder than he needed to, nearly knocking him face first into the turf. The twins staggered, faces turned, whether from laughing or from Elladan trying to hold his brother up, no one knew.

"That is what you say every time." Elrond said, severely.

"But, _hir nin_, you always say that we have too much pent up energy. Indeed, just yesterday, Elrohir broke one of the vases in the Hall of Fire when we were eating dinner!"

"You _what?_" Elrond snapped, turning to Elrohir. The dark haired elf tried valiantly to glare murderously at Legolas and look respectfully sorry at the same time.

"_Hir nin, _as proved by the fine example set by your own son, we seem to have a store of excess energy. Do you not agree that this energy will be better spent outside the borders of Imladris, so that none get injured in the process?" Legolas pleaded.

Sighing, Elrond inspected the three young elves. It seemed he had no choice. Elrond let out another sigh.

"Very well," he said, glaring at them all. "But if you are not back within a week, give or take a few days, we _will_ send a patrol after you.And we _will_ make sure you take not so much as a single step outside Imladris for the remainder of your stay. Is that clear?"

Half an hour later, Elrond stood watching as the three riders departed from the stables. First was Legolas, his gold warrior braids blown back in the wind, clad in the green and brown of Mirkwood warriors, his bow and quiver slung over his back, his twin knives sheathed in deadly beauty. His twin sons rode after him, mirror images of one another, cloaks billowing as their horses plunged after Legolas.

They were capable, he told himself. Capable and experienced. They would be fine.

But as much as he wanted himself to believe it, he could not truly shift the uneasy gnawing at his heart. Was it the Sight? Was it telling him that this journey would go ill?

_No,_ he decided. _They will be safe. I must believe that._

But try as he might, a father's love can never truly be appeased by logic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: **

**A/N: I really do apologize for being so slow in my uploads, but what with the piles of homework and the killer Sauron type finals coming up… I sincerely apologize if the updates are far in between. **

**As for this fic, it's a bit AU, and I know THAT child's only supposed to be two, but for the sake of this story, we shall 'pretend'. **

**That having been said, I think you can expect to have an update (at least) every two weeks. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited, I really do appreciate the advice! **

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure it's obvious I don't own any bit of the original Lord of the Rings.**

* * *

The lady hurried forwards, her grey cloak flapping in the wind. Over meadows, through forests, across rivers, she had come, braving the creatures that lurked in the places of darkness, places that had become all too common of late.

Her brow was taut with anxiety, lined with deep valleys of weariness. Not that travel was new to her. She had been wandering for longer than she could remember, never lingering in one place often enough, following those who kept her company.

But now... Now she could not rest and travel aimlessly as she had before. She had a purpose, a duty, rather, and she let that fuel her stumbling steps as she made her way through the roads that stretched across the land.

Once, she had had companions, a horse, and bright hope. But those companions had been lost in a surprise attack by orcs. She had fled, riding hard in a rainstorm, the orcs hard on her trail. When all seemed to be fine, when the sounds of pursuit were dying away, and she felt that they were at last out of danger, the loyal animal, staggering from exhaustion, had slipped down a river bank.

He had broken his neck instantly. She had been thrown, but the noble horse, even with as he breathed his last, had shifted and tried to take the brunt of her fall. And so she had lived.

She still clung to hope, because hope was all she had left. It might have dimmed, it might have flickered, but hope lived on and hope survived. And she held onto it like a drowning man did a lifeline.

She would not seek help, not from villages, not from towns. Too many these days regarded strangers with wariness. No, the less contact she had, the better off they would all be. But she was putting off the inevitable.

She would require shelter, and although a town full of Men would not deter creatures of the dark if they were hunting her, she could not deny that she felt safer with the presence of others. And she was reasonably sure that stray orc parties would not take it upon themselves to burn down the most unassuming towns when they had bigger prey.

But, too often, the villagers could not even save themselves from the darkness. It was too much to ask that they help her too. But if only they knew...

The fate of Men was at stake, but how were they to know? How were they to know that the future leader of their people lay cradled in her arms?

She looked down, gently brushing the feathery tendrils of dark hair that crept across the sleeping child's face. He was no older than five, and it was strange that so small a figure held such a large part of her heart, held hope for all free Men in days to come.

His small face crinkled as he wandered unknown paths in his sleep. She felt a pang of sorrow and guilt. What had the world come to, that she must drug a child for fear that he would cry out in his sleep and alert the enemy?

Whispering gently, she caressed his cheek, putting all the love she could muster into her voice. His frown smoothened, and he murmured happily as he drifted towards lighter dreams. He was still young enough to be soothed by a mother's words.

_And please, _she prayed, _let him be young a while longer._

So small... So vulnerable. A surge of protectiveness boiled up from her heart. She hurried, forcing her weary feet onwards. She would protect this child with her life.

'Soon, Aragorn,' she murmured as she hurried east, 'you will be safe.'

* * *

Legolas gazed out over the serene pool. The moon, a silver disc, rippled in the gentle current, and the small waves lapped at the shore. Tall reeds emerged from the water, bobbing merrily in the slight breeze. From all around him, sounds of the night emerged. There was an almost silent rustle of wings as a grey owl ghosted through the skies. The trees whispered and waved, the sound of leaves upon leaves. Through the grasses, smaller inhabitants of the forest watched the being with bright eyes.

The elf was perched on outcropping of rock, his golden hair bathed silver in the moonlight. The strands of moonspill seemed to cluster to the natural light of his body, and he appeared almost ethereal. But he remained so still, he could have been an extension of the stone for all the movement he made.

To those who do not understand elves, Legolas may have appeared to be entirely at ease. But those with a practiced eye would have noticed his fingers digging into the carpet of moss that covered the stone, and would have seen the flicker of the grey eyes as they darted across the clearing, piercing beyond shadows that would have completely confounded mortals.

He listened to the wind and the song of the trees. He let his consciousness drift, until he was almost one with the strains of Illuvatar's song pealing through the night. The stars and the moon shone kindly down upon him, twinkling diamonds embedded in a velvet sky. There did not seem to be any particular trouble brewing.

Reassured that naught would happen without his knowing it, Legolas rose swiftly, and reached out for the nearest tree limb. With a cat-like leap, he sprang up and into the leaves, melting into the forest.

He moved from tree to tree, a shadow in the night, silently slipping back towards the clearing. With a final bound, he leaped to the topmost branches of a pine tree, gently easing himself down until he was sitting, with his back against the tree trunk and one leg dangling off into space.

They had travelled far that day, many miles out of the Last Homely House, wandering the surrounding wood. They had had no particular destination in mind, but let their horses pick their way through the forest. Songs had been sung, laughter echoed through the wood.

For a while, Legolas had let himself relax, had become almost careless, like a knife had slashed the string of a drawn and taut bow, resulting in a state somewhat like euphoria. In fact, he could not remember what had really transpired during the past few hours.

Of course, that state had worn off after an hour or two, particularly after Elrohir had wandered rather absentmindedly off the path and into a brook. It had been rather odd to see the respected son of the lord of Imladris up to his knees in water, being scolded by a particularly territorial hawk.

They were on the outskirts of the forest encircling Imladris, far too exposed for Legolas' liking. By the pool he had lingered by earlier on, he could see, in the distance, where the thinning trees ended and rolling hills began. And if his reckoning was accurate, they were within twenty miles of quite a few Mannish settlements. Small towns, to be sure, but it made him uneasy all the same.

It was not fear of Men that caused Legolas to be wary. He had never really understood his father's disdain for the mortal races, and neither had he quite agreed with the secrecy of the wood elves. Despite the passing of seven centuries since he came to this world, he had yet to come into close contact with races of the Secondborn. And while this might have suited others of the Greenwood just fine, Legolas suffered from an abundance of elven curiosity.

Frowning, the prince cleared such thoughts from his mind. It would not do to become distracted during a night watch, no matter how safe Imladris was rumored to be. He knew Elladan and Elrohir would become awake at the slightest disturbance, and if it so happened that a fell creature slipped past his guard, it would mostly likely be not life threatening.

_Even though,_ he thought, amused, as he gazed down at the sleeping forms of the twins in the clearing below, _Elrondion always appear to be sleeping deeply._

But it rankled him, to think that he might be incapable of watching over his friends. A prince's pride, the very pride that had aided the Elvenking in keeping Mirkwood's elves from being swamped in shadow without the help of an elven ring, was not to be trifled with.

But, here was something in the air tonight, something different. Legolas stretched out a hand for the bark of the pine, and the tree hummed in delight at an elven touch. The prince concentrated on the strains of music emanating from the tree.

Was that a faint note of discord? Tilting his head to the side in a distinctively bird-like gesture, Legolas narrowed his eyes.

_What can you tell me, guardian of the wood? _

The tree was slow in its response, for trees have a rather terrible, if not wholly non-existent, sense of time. _All is well close to the elven realm..._

_ Yes?_

_ But I believe... Nay, I know that something stirs on the edge of the forest._

_Truly? Then be it for good or for ill?_

_I cannot quite tell. It could be that a caterpillar has emerged into a butterfly. We trees are rather perceptive. _

Agreeing hastily, Legolas prodded, _What is your perception then, dear pine?_

_I perceive that you would do well to visit my kin who grow closer to the Men-towns, for I am too far to see... _

_Thank you, friend. _Legolas gently patted the tree; _you have done much to help. _

_You are welcome, elfling. _

Rather disconcerted, he rose. He had seen aught from the pool, but then, he had only glimpsed the clove of the trees separating Imladris from the rest of the world. They were still relatively far, by mortal reckoning, from the nearest source of trouble who did not happen to be the prince or the twins. Was it possible that something had slipped his sight?

_Of course it is_, he scolded himself. It was always possible.

* * *

The men marched across the empty fields. Five hulking guards, broad shouldered and tall, more like large lumbering boulders than men, surrounded a thin stick of a man, with wizened features, and a rather queer mustache. This particular stick did not look like much. In fact, it seemed as if a good strong gust of wind would lay him flat.

But his strength was not in his physical form, but in his mind. Indeed, if he had relied on strength to go about the world, he would probably have died fifty times over so far. But his mind would not betray him. Cunning, sharp, his brains were what allowed him to squirm up the ranks of Sauron's company.

And while the Mouth of Sauron and the Nazgul were the ones who were widely known, he preferred to stay in the background, a greasy, slimy snake that was hard to see and even harder to catch.

His thin chest puffed with pride as he strode along. The Master was entrusting a quest to him. Him, a weakling, the village fool. Always laughed at, always scorned... But no more. No more!

The men surrounding him were grumbling and muttering.

Glancing around at the empty plains, he hissed, 'We cannot be seen! Be quiet, you fools!"

The men looked at him with indignation, but he knew what fear could do. He hissed and raised a his knobbed stick, a crude imitation of a wizard's staff, towards the moonlight. The tip of it gleamed with sudden light and the men quailed.

"Quiet! Or the Master shall hear about this, and the unlucky individual will have the honor of explaining why our quest failed because he could not keep his mouth shut!" He snapped, brandishing the staff.

Fearful now, the men avoided his eyes, staring intently at the ground.

What fools! To be scared of a trick of the light! He lowered the staff. Unbeknownst to them, the tip of the staff had been hollowed out, and the insides replaced with mirrors. But they were such a gullible and idiotic bunch!

He relaxed and clouted the nearest brute to him with his stick. In reality, he could not care less whether they had been seen. But there was a certain fear that tingled up his spine as he glanced darkly at the black smudge in the distant, at the forests shrouding the elven realm of Imladris.

_Elves_, he almost snarled. _Fair, swift, strong... And wise! What would I do to have been born an elf? _

His hatred grew. It was not fair. Not fair at all.

It was not part of his task, but he would enjoy making them suffer. Oh, yes he would.

* * *

Out of the range of mortal sight or hearing, there was a pair of grey eyes glinting elven bright in the trees.

The eyes blinked, and were gone, and the youngest prince of Mirkwood turned his flight towards the clearing.

* * *

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